


If I Got Rid Of My Demons, I'd Lose All My Angels

by Cowboy Dan (glitchkillgasm)



Category: Twenty One Pilots, twenty - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Cambion, Demonic Possession, Dubious Consent, Dubious use of bandito tour tape, Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph - Freeform, Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph Smut, Kinda, M/M, Oral Sex, Tyler is hung up on his faith and his friend's sex demon voodoo, Tyler isn't really homophobic, voodoo lobster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitchkillgasm/pseuds/Cowboy%20Dan
Summary: So, Josh was born a cambion, Tyler is very prone to being influenced by demonic activity. During the Bandito tour, Josh inadvertently starts to toy with Tyler's mind as his true nature starts to take hold. Josh is not aware of his status and a misunderstanding ensues. Josh has the ability to make Tyler hallucinate but he isn't in control of this. Essentially Tyler thinks Josh is bangin' hoors in the hotel when he isn't, and essentially Tyler doesn't realize he's giving into his lust.
Relationships: Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph
Kudos: 1





	If I Got Rid Of My Demons, I'd Lose All My Angels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jesus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesus/gifts).



> The formatting of this might be wonky because my girlfriend and I have been roleplaying this as opposed to a single person writing it. I contributed the parts of Josh Dun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italics are Tyler.

_His fingers clench around the shaft of the microphone as he hears his own voice quaver with the conviction of his lyrics. 'You've made it', signal the white sea of glowing cell phone lights. Kansas City, Missouri is an enthusiastic crowd, sure, but not to the extent where he can forgive Josh's actions. They had been on this tour just shy of a month, and on every single one of the 27 previous shows, the curtain would strategically drop during Neon Graves. Josh had teased Tyler about his bizarre request for privacy during such a slow song, even slyly suggesting that Tyler might earn a kiss with his guard down like that, as though he were unaware that the move was deliberate. There is no way that his band mate could miss how important this song is to him. Then again, it was only a track earlier where Josh had sauntered over towards his outstretched beckoning hand, nearly knocking Tyler off of his bench with the strength of his cologne. He pulled Josh to his level and smirked, a distinct departure from their usually playful banter. 'Tonight is your last chance,' he whispered into his ear before tilting the microphone back to his lips. He smirked widely at the audience's bemused reaction to the dumbed down instructions he fed his pet cheetah to play a single piano key. However, Tyler knew that after tonight, he would have to put his lesson in a way that only an animal would understand._

_There had been an incident two nights prior in Denver. His demons wouldn't let him sleep and he had left their shared hotel room late in the evening to grab a pop from the downstairs bar. Tyler wasn't entirely sure how long he had been gone but when the hands on his watch finally persuaded him to make the journey back upstairs, there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for him. The lights were off in the main room, but a dandelion yellow light illuminated a small patch of carpet underneath the bathroom door. The sounds of sodomy berated his hearing. Fuming, he walked over to the remote, flicked on the television, and steadily turned up the volume. He feverishly prayed that the vigorous panting would cease, that without the sight of another man's naked body, he could calm the rising urge to go into a blind rage. He would have to act in order to combat the sin. What was that night if not an escalation of what had occurred on tour three years ago? The circumstances were similar: unknown forces plagued his mind and prevented sleep. In the early morning, he felt his covers being pulled back and Josh climbing into bed with him. He held his breath as the other man slung his arm across his torso and began to thrust gently against Tyler's ass. The foreign hand explored his body until it came to rest on what it was searching for. He pretended to be undisturbed as Josh's breath punctured the air and his palm stroked his cock. He shuddered with arousal that he was unable to fend off. 'This is a test from God. This is a test from God. This is a test from God,' he repeatedly told himself as he felt his cum spill across Josh's knuckles. He heard Josh choke on silence and turn over in the bed, sighing somewhat contentedly. Now, three years later and Josh had evidently taken the next step in his blasphemy. Bar 50 wasn't high enough to drown out the grunts from the smaller room. It would only be a matter of time for his best friend to notice his presence outside. Tyler had known that Josh wasn't saving his body for marriage, despite the intermittent lectures advising against this course of action from both the Dun family and himself. Still, it rubbed Tyler the wrong way. In a few minutes, the door opened. Josh stepped out and turned off the bathroom light. 'Wait, hold up!', Tyler yelled, angrily sitting up to turn on the main switch. He sprung out of bed to investigate but for all intents and purposes, Josh was alone. This being certified once all the cabinets were flung open and the shower curtain was torn down from the rods. 'That's impossible,' Tyler mumbled to himself. Was this a warning, a premonition of what was to come should he fail to save Josh's soul from the devil? He had heard him fucking - he had heard the sin. He was running out of time._

_Again, Tyler refused to bring up Josh's indiscretion. He knows what he's done and as he had threatened, this was his final chance to change. 'Find your grandparents of someone of age, pay some respects for the path that they paved', Tyler belts out to no reaction. He finishes the last two lines with grit; would his best friend feel something? Instead of displaying a necessary sense of filial piety, Tyler is greeted with the abbreviation 'KC' scrawled across Josh's sweat-beaded abdomen. The ungrateful, rebellious attitude towards his parents had never lessened. Mr. and Mrs. Dun were compassionate, God-fearing people and Tyler had tried his best to instill reverence in Josh for his elders and God and it was hitting him hard that he had failed. Josh may be his best friend, but he had to carry out the Lord's work, no matter how much it would pain him. Tyler reached into his pocket to fumble with the various pills resting there and smiled as the curtain went up, exposing them to the crowds of oblivious fans._

Alarms don't go off and there are no early warnings, no emergency broadcast systems to tell him that things are going to take a nosedive onto concrete. As they go through the tour -- filling stadiums and staring at swarms of camouflaged and neon yellow taped bodies swaying to the notes that they've collaborated, dragging themselves to nearby hotels while dodging attention of stalker-like tendencies, rinsing and repeating -- Josh has already made peace with the nauseously orange Thorazine bottle that's followed Tyler around for as long as he's known him. He suspects that there were times when he didn't disclose his diagnosis and hid this information from him, along with the rest of his friends, but he can't be certain. If he had thought to isolate himself in the bathroom and quietly pour the remaining tablets into the palm of his hand and count them individually, he'd notice that the bottle completely full, all sixty pills accounted for. The date on the prescription states that it was filled weeks prior -- it's a prop that Tyler is using to let them all know that he's okay, but Josh doesn't know that he's being lured into a false sense of security. There is the sound of the door to the hotel room opening with mild hesitation in the form of a creak, followed by carelessly heavy and quick footsteps on the carpet, and finally an increase of volume on the weather channel until it's on full blast. When he opens the door to investigate why Tyler's suddenly hard of hearing or can't seem to manage the television properly, he gently flicks off the lights witch with the knuckle of his index finger, being met with his friend's frame rushing upon him to gain entry into the bathroom. 

"What the fuck?" Josh gently questions, both hands going up above his head defensively, as if the other man's a police officer raiding his home during the mild investigation that takes place. The curtains are ripped from their metallic rings, the cheap plastic fraying at first but then giving way to his demands, all of the cabinets being hastily thrown open and allowed to noisily slam shut. He watches him pace around the bathroom a couple of times, trying to look for something that he doesn't even get the privilege of knowing about, all he can do is watch the display, "Tyler what's up?" he tries once more. The volume from the television doesn't lower itself, so it drowns out most of the mumbling that Tyler does, leaving Josh to silently slip out of the crowded room and pad over towards the remote to lower the probability that the hotel is going to complain. When he finally is able to get the buttons perform, he directs his attention back over to Tyler, who he can see is standing by himself with his hands at his sides like he wants to lash out at something. Moments pass where he fights with two ultimate choices, he can go back in there and comfort Tyler -- like he always tries to do -- or he can give him his space. 

There is something off about him that makes the decision especially difficult, how he's clearly distraught by a situation that he won't talk about, but Josh decides to leave the conversation for when Tyler is comfortable bringing it to him. Things have been tense between them ever since they'd been on their last tour, he hadn't disclosed it to their fans, but Josh genuinely worried if they'd ever get back together. One morning in Atlanta, when the sun was just barely starting to bleed through the sandstone curtains, Tyler had shakily pushed himself away from an embrace that Josh had most likely initiated throughout the cold night. It had all changed, and the only reason that he could think of is that he might have accidentally been hard against Tyler's thigh when he'd woken up, but that's not something he intentionally had made happen. It's natural, he had told himself when his friend went for an incredibly early shower, shifting himself away from the light. It's natural and he doesn't have a reason to think I'm not straight. He isn't made aware that there's a wet spot on the front of Tyler's boxers that's indicative of him grinding himself against the mattress until he came, all the while he had been having an awfully realistic sexual encounter with none other than himself. Josh hides his face in the crook of his arm and tries his best to forget about it.

Shame fades with years of swallowing it down, you might not even notice it for the longest time until it unexpectedly makes itself known at the most inconvenient of times. These realizations can be crushing, to recall an act of indecency or inhumanity in the past, but Josh is very good at leaving the past where he believes it belongs. The last thing that he can think about, even if he were to force himself to linger on the topic, is whether or not three years ago Tyler got freaked out by an act of intimacy. What should be at the foreground is what had caused the singer to tear apart the hotel bathroom, but there is no room for anything else in his mind apart from his performance. Nobody can blame him for this, his heart's beating at a steady rhythm as he keeps up with the songs, a steady clicking in his ear is what he can pay any amount of attention to. There are times when this stops, when things get slow and Tyler invites him over to his piano to press down a single key, or he's expected to run through a venue of crowded people to get to the other, smaller stage. You'd think that he'd be more relaxed when he can take a break from drumming and focus on just being there, but point A to point B is just as much work. 

"Tonight is your last chance." comes as a surprise, usually it's some kind of joke that he leans in to tell him, about something not even that funny, but they both laugh anyways because of how much adrenaline they experience from all of this. The first reaction that he has is to freeze, but he doesn't think that he's in danger, looking over Tyler's face while he beams, unable to read him. Josh presses his finger down on the indicated key, the one that's used uniformly across the tour, and there is a roar of people that cheer for the minuscule contribution to the next song. They go through the set with no technical difficulties, and surprisingly no fans passing out in general admission, but there is something different about this show. It's always bittersweet having to end the shows for a brief hiatus, but he knows that they're coming back in the summer of the next year. Josh can't figure out why Tyler would be acting so raw for this one performance, or why he seems to stare at him when he makes his way across the sky bridge and his chest is covered in marker that indicates the city they're in, an indescribable emotion hidden behind a forced smile. Neon Gravestones is one of the songs that mean a lot to Tyler, it's about respecting your family and those around you, and Josh doesn't give much of a reaction during it. He never understood the true meaning behind it -- sure, you're here because of your parents, but that's a given. He isn't given much time before they're at the end of the set-list and they have to give it their all for Trees. Josh's arms feel like they're on fire as he hits the drums as hard as he possibly can to sign off the tour with a bang, the sweat in his eyes making it impossible to see the yellow and green strips that explode from the ceiling, nor those around them as they jump in unison. The lights go out and they leave the stage quickly, as Josh navigates himself through the unfamiliar inner workings of the venue, side-stepping to avoid crew and various equipment, he doesn't look over his shoulder at Tyler and assumes he's merely following. 

"I can't believe it's over already," he calls to the man behind him, resting his hands on the back of his head to stretch out his muscles, feeling all of those shows making their presence known by the tension there, "Let's get this signing over with so we can order pizza." he suggests. Josh doesn't know that the fans won't see him at the merch booth, and that they're not going to be celebrating anything.

_Tyler sees Josh nonchalantly jog from the stage and towards their stand. He watches as his ever-popular best friend is swathed in a random assortment of outstretched limbs. He always felt nervous when Josh disappeared from his sight, oddly enough the sensation increased when fans were involved. If they held even a fraction of the 'brotherly' love for Josh that consumed his own mind, he might never see him again. It was an recurring fear that one day Josh would be sucked into a nebulous mass and be lost forever while he hears his own voice over a backing track screaming Josh's name and pleading for help. Of course, with all things considered, he couldn't ignore this as a message from God to step in on the spiritual welfare of his bandmate. He inhales. Exhales. It could only take a few minutes for him to realize his absence and return to him. They were never separated for long; Tyler grins to himself, thinking of the time where they had had dressing rooms across from each other and Josh had tagged along behind him instead of following his arrow. He could never forget the strength of his jawline and his thick eyelashes as he cried, before throwing his furniture into chaos and storming out of his room to Josh's own. Those are the magnetic qualities that Tyler loves - Josh's passion, his love, his loyalty, but above all, his sensitivity. This is just another test. All he has to do is wait - exhale, inhale- wait for the second coming. And low and behold, there is Josh, arms swinging, teeth shining through his smile._

_There it was. He belongs to him again. He scrapes his hand against the denim of his back pocket. In the time that Josh had been greeting boy-crazy fan-girls, he had finished crushing his medication to a fine powder, mixing it with the remaining contents of his complimentary water bottle and funneling it into the opening of a syringe. It was no big secret formula that Thorazine ground down and injected as a liquid would have tranquilizing effects. He was sure that with the ski mask over Josh's face, he could carry him, positioning the limp arms around his neck in a mildly convincing pose, and pass their exit towards the hotel as 'end of tour' theatrics that only the crowd in Kansas City were privileged enough to witness. There was such a surge of conquering as he pumps Josh's veins with a substance that he chose to add. Josh is his territory, his mission, and he would help the body slumped in his arms achieve salvation as Jesus had helped him to attain by bearing the weight of the cross he died on._

_It would only be an elevator ride and a few paces to reach their hotel room. That would be a safe base until he could reasonably move Josh without arising suspicion. He could safely move Josh to the his personal unit in the run-down warehouse district without alerting anyone if he passed the time until it was so late in the evening that it was morning. If he were careful, he could come and go for interviews and public appeal meetings while maintaining his alibi and therefore innocence. He'd convey that he was conscious of all 24 hours in the day because each would be spent thinking of Josh. He wouldn't technically be lying. He would be thinking of Josh, especially when he couldn't be physically with him, but it was important to know that it was all for his improvement as a human being and disciple of God._

_He lays Josh's body on the gaudy gold and scarlet hotel duvet cover and binds his arms and feet with one of the countless rolls of yellow duct tape he had found in the deserted, confettied row seats of the venue. He makes the bands thick, covering his ankles up to the crease of his thighs and from his wrists up to his biceps. If he knew what was good for him, he would raptly listen to the changes he needed to make and graciously accept Tyler's help in curing him from his immoral ailments. He attributed his irrefutable attraction to the handsome Josh as a trait from the Lord to allow him to complete his work. He couldn't deny that Josh's unconscious body packaged on the bed provoked a physical reaction that made his heart beat out of his chest in a way that he could only describe as nausea inducing. There was virtually no way that he would be able to remember anything until he came to, rations Tyler as he runs a softened fingertip along his friend's pelvic bone and against his cock. He would do anything for Josh - even if it meant 'fucking the fag out of him', he didn't want to credit himself for such an expression - he is smart enough to know there are some things that even the most steadfast supporter won't weather and that phrase spoken to anyone would make the list. If he didn't speak, he could execute; that was the type of advice his Grandfather, and even out of habit his father, would be sure to slip into every relevant dialogue with their immediate descendant. The trapped cock nosed desperately against his flattened palm and Tyler dipped to circle his lips around Josh's head. It's common knowledge that sucking the venom from the vessel is the most effective way to remove the poison._

All that he can bring himself to do is breathe at a certain point, he feels like he isn't going to be able to hold himself up for much longer, and not being able to perform such a basic task terrifies him. His body is betraying him by the second, and as he starts to lose his footing and lower gradually to the floor, he keeps gently calling out for Tyler in the hallway, but he can only assume that this is happening to him as well. Josh's eyes are heavy but he looks around from his limited vantage point, trying to get any information from his surroundings about what's happening, who is hurting them, and if there is anybody that's going to come and help. The issue is that he looks too far for the answer and there's Tyler, it's not the answer he was looking for. In his hand there is the syringe, empty now, and it's thoughtfully being examined in front of his face as if he's trying to figure something out -- it almost gives the impression that he wasn't the one that had done it. He blinks a couple of times, now able to realize that he's been lowered onto Tyler's lap and he's laying back on him, and there are reassuring words being said to him that he can't even catch through the panicked buzzing in his own head. A hand runs through his hair gently, a stark contrast to the stab into his neck that's now all but paralyzed him with exhaustion, and he eventually can't keep himself awake, and his thoughts slow to a halt. His thoughts are storm clouds that swell and fill with grey dread, and before he knows it he's gone. There is no Josh Dun, there is no Tyler Joseph, Twenty One Pilots does not exist, and he falls into the part of his consciousness that is blank, a state between dreams and nightmares, and time flows on without his involvement or acknowledgement.

On the map of his body is a touch, singular and subtle enough that he doesn't register it as being valid at all, not something to pay attention to. It trails from the side of his hip, over the softly protruding bone there, and the finger doesn't stop before it runs along the natural bulge of his flaccid cock, causing it to almost instantly twitch because of how long it's been since he's allowed himself to sit still long enough to get with anybody. His body allows for a trapped groan to escape his parched throat as Tyler teases him by rubbing him through his shorts, eventually daring to even wrap his lips around the outline of the sensitive head, this causes Josh to gently stir awake. Eyes only barely able to open because of the perceived impossibly bright lights around him, he attempts to stretch out the stiffness that he feels residing in his body, but is not permitted to do so by the neon tape that covers his entire forearms and calves, keeping those limbs strictly bound together. Despite the burning pain that comes with struggling against duct tape, he squirms underneath Tyler, blindly moving in ways that he thinks will mean his freedom, all the while cursing to himself while he assumes he's going to be killed -- or worse. When he comes to realize the gravity of the situation, he forgets the foggy detail that Tyler had done this to him, that his best friend had to be connected to this; When it does click in his head, he swiftly sits up despite his grogginess and stares, face to face with his best friend dangerously close to his crotch. 

"Tyler?" he asks breathily, looking around the hotel room and squinting, "What's going on? Why am I tied up?" all of these questions come out impatiently waiting for an answer that he might not ever receive, but he still has to ask. Josh reaches down with his bound together wrists and covers his steadily hardening cock with his cupped hands, swallowing down the fear that's caught in his throat while he hopes that he's going to get some good news and that this is some prank gone wrong, or that there is a good goddamn reason for any of this. It's best not to accuse him of drugging him just yet, because he has no clue what state of mind Tyler's in, and if he had simply been in the right place at the right time to save his life from some obsessive fan -- that's what he tells himself to prevent a freak out.

_It had been haunting, hearing his name in the same strangled tone in which they always had appealed for help from one another under dire circumstances. Tyler had silenced him with a syringe despite the frantic bucking; athleticism is no match for tenacity. However, that otherwise imperceptible cry will follow him forever. He stands to lose everything if his execution fails. Josh would never understand why he had to do this. The tightrope that thinly separates betrayal from redemption would be sliced to shreds. When he finally lisps out his name surprisingly coherently, Tyler has steeled his resolve against his emotions to go through with his plan. Now, as Tyler mouths a wet target over his friend's bulge, Josh's abs shudder and he jolts upright._

_'Good, you're awake,' Tyler carefully chooses to ignore the direct line of questioning. He glances up quickly to make eye contact with his friend's darting pupils and lead them like a parent holding a toddler's hand back to his tensed, demanding erection. With a smirk, he taps the eager cock with his tongue, 'If this is the reaction I get from you when you're unconscious, you really do need my help.' He chuckles, listening for the witty, light-hearted retort. The quiet is unexpected._  
_He buries his face in Josh's crotch, bobbing his head up and down as he sucks. His body was responding in the way he had anticipated but Josh's apparent discomfort threw him off guard. No matter what, he would make him speak - even if he has to coax a moan from him. He knows that he is doing the right thing. On some perverse level Josh has to be deriving pleasure from this, but more importantly, he is doing what God had asked of him. Maybe it really is like a virus? He feels hands press on his head, shoving the pulsing further into his throat. Is sin transferable? Is he infected already? The warmth of a Samaritan deed is all at once replaced with his own panic. He likes the way his best friend tastes. This couldn't be happening. All he needs to do is release his cock but he doesn't want to and the strength of the fingertips digging into his skull are holding his mouth hostage._

_He pleads internally for oxygen as the muscles finally spasm and relax. Shocked, he pulls away as cum bubbles from the shrouded tip to froth the front of Josh's shorts more impressively than his saliva ever could. He breathes raggedly. All he wants to do now is avoid Josh and regain composure. He had underestimated the challenge at hand and was left feeling violated and confused. He rests the crook of one arm over Josh's bound legs, shamefully grasping at between the tape to hold Josh's hand. 'I have to help you,' is all that he can bear to whisper._

Don't do this, please don't do this. All of his words fall from the air like they hadn't been spoken, like they'd been shot down by Tyler even though he's aware that he must have heard them clearly, and Josh knows that this is because the answer that he'd have to supply him with is something that will cause him to panic. It's a stall for time and for resources, to make sure that he's subdued and complacent for as long as is required. He can't shake off the lingering effects of what he'd been injected with, he feels rigid and too disconnected from the strength he knows he has to defend himself, but just sitting there is enough to drain him of all energy. From his perspective, all he can focus on is his best friend on his knees between his legs so casually that it's disturbing, his hands rested delicately placed on either side of his admittedly hard cock as if he's been invited to do so, the darkening patch of the material hinting that he's gotten him wet with spit -- Josh also knows that it's mixed with his own fluid from experience. He can feel the cold slick precum beginning to gather underneath his navel, and it somehow makes the situation feel even more filthy and forbidden. He's wanted this for years, to reach this level of intimacy with Tyler, to break down the barriers of just being friends, but he'd never been willing to take the risk that might have ruined their friendship. Now the risk has been re-calculated and applied by another person, and it makes it impossible for him to come to terms with reality -- this wasn't supposed to happen. 

The last part of this situation that he wants to pay attention to is between his legs, and it's very clear that Tyler's deliberately guiding his eyes down to look at how he's reacting to the other man's touch. He can't stop himself from getting turned on, it's a chemical response in his body that can't be contained, and his brain is going absolutely haywire trying to undo the knots that have been tied by his best friend. Josh wants this, and he's needed this for several years since knowing Tyler, but he knows that it's not something that's acceptable to take from him. A thought causes his stomach to drop painfully and he swallows roughly despite how dry his mouth is, and he feels so incredibly guilty for not being able to keep Tyler from running his lips over him or sucking on him through the material, because he's married. He had been at the wedding, he had seen how happy the two of them had been when they went through with the ceremony, and Josh had smiled and participated, but he'd mentally made himself unavailable. That day wasn't about him, but there was a great sacrifice that he had to make by watching the man that he loved walk down the aisle with somebody else. Too many glasses of wine and champagne were thrown back that evening to cope with the internal struggle, but he'd kept his mouth shut because he knew that it was for the greater good -- and now Tyler's throwing that all away. The most painful part of it is that this seems to just be sexual, they aren't going to get into a relationship, this is just primal. Plus, there's no guaranteeing that Tyler's even going to let him ever leave this room again, there's just no way to be sure. 

"If this is the reaction I get from you when you're unconscious, you really do need my help." Comes out with a breathy chuckle, and it makes all of the blood in his body flow down towards his cock. This can't be happening, he thinks to himself, incapable of finding the words that are worthy of being said in this situation. He can't just let this continue, but Tyler's essentially confirmed that he was the person that drugged him so that he could do this, whatever this is, and so he clears his throat gently to hopefully gain the courage to speak up. Reaching down to grasp at the short strands of his hair, he pulls at them as if they'll get Tyler to stop toying with him, but he can't find a good enough grip to succeed. "Tyler, Tyler." he calls out, still sitting up so that he has to stare down at the other man mouthing at him with determination, "Tyler, please. Please, stop. I'm going to fucking -- Tyler, stop, seriously." and a choked noise follows the last plea as his eyes shut tightly. He can't hold it anymore, there are only so many breathing exercises and methods that he can use to prevent cumming, and he knows he's in too deep when that familiar pulsing starts taking over. Josh raises up his bound arms to try and stifle some of the noise that he makes by biting down on one of his knuckles, "Tyler, I'm going to cum." he finally admits with a shaky tone, because maybe if he understands that this is actually getting him off, he'll stop. Of course, he doesn't. His body shudders at the strength of the orgasm, it's intense enough that his mind goes elsewhere and he forgets how he got there, his cock throbbing helplessly as he begins to cum through the materials dividing Tyler's lips and tongue from his own skin. The thick bead of it swells on the surface of his shorts with each shot, and the pleasure eventually dies off when the other man realizes what's happened and he's denied of a proper orgasm, the image of Tyler pulling back with that shocked and disappointed expression feels so shameful. To add insult to the injury, he feels a familiar and reassuring hand seeking out his own between the yellow tape, gripping him tightly like all those times before when they'd held hands. 

"Help me... With what?" is only able to be thrown back in question when he's able to regain his composure and is heart doesn't feel like it's going to spin off into cardiac arrest anymore, and suddenly it clicks, "That's not -- bodies are going to respond to anybody touching them while they're out of it, that's just nature. It didn't mean anything, it's just been a long time. It's not like I want to fuck you or anything, Ty. Like, honestly, I think this has been a huge misunderstanding and, I don't know why I'm here, or why you drugged me, but I think you need to hear me out." he knows that he's rambling, but he'll do anything to make Tyler understand. "I'm not gay." he tells him with enough business-like tone behind his voice that he thinks it comes off across as semi-convincing, "I don't know what gave you that idea, but... Wait, why the fuck am I tied up still?" he asks, suddenly changing his train of thought. He was so busy justifying himself to Tyler that he forgot that he wasn't responsible for being in this situation at all, and his eyebrows come together angrily while he stares Tyler down like he's the enemy, because this is unacceptable. Josh roughly twists his arms to try and free himself once more, but he mainly does this as if to give evidence to his friend what he's referring to, before he lowers his mouth down to the edge of the tape around his wrists and begins to chew at it desperately. He knows he looks ridiculous, but what the fuck is going on? Why is this happening? 

"Tyler, let me out. Let me out now, or I'm going to **fucking** scream." he threatens with a hiss. 

_He had obviously bottled up all his swearing for the end of tour - trying to be a good boy to the public must have taken a toll on him. Tyler arches one eyebrow at the scene before him. Josh had done an alright job chewing through the first centimeter of tape so far but with his progress, the sticky side was starting to catch on his bottom lip. He couldn't resist a smirk. 'Alright, scream for me, Josh,' he mocks as he slaps the tape hard. Josh's rebellious streak wasn't making a difficult task for him any easier. He sighs. 'All these years, I've lived hearing you back me up as I sung about faith, the damage you were doing to your soul, questioning the right decisions...' Motivated almost but not entirely by pure virtue, Tyler winds back his arm and slugs his fist hard against the cheekbone. '-The thing is, Josh,' he delivers another hard blow, on the same side to keep him guessing. He then alternates fists as he feels first the warmth of flesh, then the sharpened canines through the webbed wall of the cheek. 'The thing is', the importance of his words weigh heavily on his tongue. 'You've taken nothing from any of it.' He was confident that to Josh, the knuckles layering hits neatly would feel like a flurry, but for whatever divine reason, time is moving in slow motion for him. He tears off another section of tape, with his teeth to prove how futile Josh's efforts to free himself were. He smacks the tape hard to silence any defiant grunts and pads the cum stain with his fingertips, 'This is why we are here tonight'._

_Seeing those imperfectly aligned strips of yellow prove that he is on the correct path to restore the band from their spiritual distress. He eyes the tape, playing with an idea. However, painting the yellow tape over Josh's nose and laying another horizontally over his eyes is not the type of punishment that would foster healing, regardless of how aesthetically pleasing spelling out their insignia in the circle of a face would be. He needed the four most vital senses for what he was about to do next, the loss of taste for the sake of silence was necessary._

_There is no reason that he can think of for a man to so harshly reject his truth. He stands up suddenly and rummages through his jacket, bringing out long beaded braids of khaki green and yellow. A fan had thrown it on stage during their performance on the second stage and he had snatched and stashed the gift before Josh made it over; he wasn't entirely certain what purpose it was intended to serve - maybe some type of metaphor for solidarity where the beads represented the Clique and the the strands represented...I don't know...the countries they had fans in? Still, it was fortuitous that it would be of use to him now. He tested them against his palm - with more momentum and strength, they would flail deep marks into the skin. 'Josh, I want to give you another chance. Be honest with me,' he breathes before hurriedly interjecting, 'and God. I don't want to have to do this to you.' He ran the loosely bundled cords over Josh's exposed thighs, thinking that it would enhance the fear. Beads splay as he trails them lightly over his crotch. All he needed was a dis-satisfactory answer for him to roll Josh over on his stomach and crack the strands against his firm ass._

All of the fear has swelled up at the back of his throat like acidic vomit; no amount of fronting is going to convince Tyler that he's in the wrong for doing this, not with the evidence he hasn't even been faced with yet, evidence that he hasn't even been given the chance to talk out of existence or validity. There are dozens of signals that could have led him to this verdict, maybe he'd found the password to his phone and thought he'd play a small prank on him only to see that his browser was showing exactly what he was craving every night of the tour. Josh can't choke down that possibility and write it off as invalid, because he knows all of the videos he's searched for, the pictures he's viewed over the years, and they're not all things that would be indicative of a straight man. His questions are not being met with answers, and that naturally worries him, but the most that he can do is stare in disbelief that this man has shared a stage with him for years, hundreds of shows without knowing he's thought like this. An ordinary response is to keep tearing at the tape with his teeth, the sharp edges of them making easy work of the section of layers before it starts to devolve into a mess of adhesive that he has to struggle with, something that he knows he can't avoid. Among the generous amount of surprises of the evening, Tyler encourages him to scream point blank, but they both know that he isn't willing to do anything that would compromise his friend's well-being, and he ultimately keeps his mouth shut. 

Tyler's fist connects so viciously that it's personal, there is anger behind it that can't be found in texts of faith and conviction, this is a punishment that has been weighing heavily on his conscience for quite some time, written in golden-edged pages. Hands raised up in the air in unison wave in their directed motions, going along with the whims of their instructor, along with the rhythm that he's bringing to life with his own. Washington, DC. Some of them hold things that matter to them during the show, the people they've chosen to spend their lives with, acquaintances, new friends while lined up to scan tickets, but there are also banners and signs that are aimed to get their attention. He sees colors, lined on top of one another on a medium that flows endlessly as it's moved back and forth over the tops of heads -- Josh recognizes this flag, but that's not saying much, he identifies with this flag. Tyler moves so that he's standing on top of the crowd, and he reaches down so that he can take hold of the material and drape it over his shoulders before continuing the set, many of the worries that have plagued him about acceptance are put to rest. He grew up knowing that he had an attraction to men, an issue that only really came up when he began high school and got a little too curious about what it was like to kiss another guy, and then his parents had found out. The backlash was immense, and he'd left the conversation feeling humiliated and raw; Josh learned to be quiet about it and hide it, and eventually, he pretended that part of him didn't exist. He never confessed those feelings to Tyler, and he can't recall why he didn't feel safe. Pain kills those memories fervently, and all of it floods in like some fucking awful tsunami that washes away the foundations of the shore and leaves it devastated, he can't do anything but let it happen. 

The rage levels itself out in Tyler, quelled by satisfactory raised bruising that's already beginning to form on his angular face, the inside of his mouth torn up by the points of his canines being forced against the softness of his cheeks. He can't stop the ringing in his ears, or the way that his body thinks that it's acceptable for some moisture to run from the corner of one of his eyes, but he's wise enough to hastily turn his head to hide it among the burgundy bed sheets. Deft fingers tap along the softened underside of his cock, not bothering to be decent and avoid the slick fluid that's disgustingly cold against him now that it's had time to sit there and partially dry on his shorts. It sends a shiver over his whole body that he doesn't try to disguise in spite of how it proves Tyler right, there is no way that he can get out of this in a dignified position, and he knows that, but it doesn't stop his brain from running through all of the possibilities and how they might pan out. "You sucked me off and that's my fault?" he asks from his position on the bed, taking the opportunity to spit out the metallic taste that's stuck in his mouth, he knows that there's redness of his blood mixed into his saliva, "If anything.. That makes you gay, Tyler. If everything's pre-determined, how do you explain that?" he laughs softly, denial, denial, denial, project. There is a defiant glint in his eyes and his jaw sets firmly, he knows how he was born and he doesn't see anything wrong with it, and if Tyler doesn't like that he can fuck off. Josh is good at pushing buttons, he's always been the one that was too loud, the teenager that questioned everything and got piercings just because it pissed people off, and he's certainly not exempt from knowing how to drive Tyler crazy. 

"Are you wanting to hear that I'm a faggot? Is that what you think, Tyler ... that I'm a cocksucker that just can't control himself?" he asks, almost as if it's genuine, and it feels just like in high school when it had circulated that he'd been caught making out with another guy behind the bleachers like some loser when they'd both thought nobody would catch them, "What does that make you?". He knows that Tyler hates it when he uses profanity, or when he even implies that he isn't striving to be a saint. There is a certain degree of curiosity towards what Tyler actually thinks of him and he distantly feels chord and running along his inner thigh, unsure of whether or not he should proceed with his old ways in dragging out the negative attention he used to crave. He can see the other man's dark eyes meet his own when he goes to straddle him so that he can restrain him further, pinning him underneath his light frame so that he can cause even more anticipation for the punishment that's to come. "I don't have to explain anything to you." he tells him, and it's weird because he's able to smile through all of the sweat that's on his face, all of the rough bruising and subtle tint of blood on his lips like it's some shining hint that he'll win, if only out of newly found spite, as he moves himself forward in one fluid motion to latch onto Tyler's forearm with his teeth and refuses to let go.

_'Yes,' he blurts out in exasperation, 'that's exactly what I want to hear.' With a light snap of the wrist, the whip lands just below his bulge. 'Just be more sincere about it, buddy.' He halfheartedly smiles as he administers the overdue and now irrelevant advice with consequences that were more real than even Tyler could have predicted. Judging by how Josh's immobile muscles have lasted this long under a wrap of duct tape, he is enjoying the power-play. With the wolfish grin, the cavalier tone, and the way his body laps up the pain rather than flinches, it is unreasonable for Tyler to expect a 'normal' reaction. But what qualifies as normal? Sobbing in self-hatred? Hanging his head in guilt? Confessing that this isn't who he is?_

_'What does that make you?', Tyler can't help but feel immediate hatred for that lilt. The words fall effortlessly, as though each syllable is a beat on the drums. While the question prickles, he isn't foolish enough to be so susceptible to low-hanging bait. He is comfortable with his status as a savior to the needy boy before him. He knows that he has to hurt back; he needs to make Josh understand that he was right not to feel safe around him. The vice that he subscribes to cannot go neglected._

_His eyes light on the other man's dark brown orbs. 'I'm not the one who came.' In less than a split-second, he is penetrated by the sharpened fence of teeth. He shrieks as scarlet bubbles excruciatingly underneath Josh's canines, the blood staining his snarl to make him the rabid posterchild of a cannibal. He frantically shakes his arm. Tyler's mind flashes through his various options- from this position, a kick wouldn't have the strength to topple him, stuffing more of his skin into his mouth wouldn't make it open wide enough for him to pry himself free, and one fist can't shower enough hits to deter a locked jaw. He lunges forward, extending his unaffected arm to clutch Josh's throat. He has to breathe sometime, and that's all that's required for him to regain control. The vocal cords strain underneath his palm. Maybe if he causes him to pass out, Tyler can put him back in his place. Staring into death's maw without faith will do that to a person._

_Josh may be athletic, but it doesn't take minutes for his arm to be relinquished as the brain grows numb from the oxygen deprivation. In a quick movement, Tyler snatches his bleeding limb back and exerts all his energy in shoving him on his stomach. One painful reminder is all that he needs to avoid making the same mistakes twice. Kicking his heel up, Tyler expertly removes the small knife he has kept wedged between his sock and shoe since they had began touring. He always assumed that it would be used in the defense of his best friend, and this is no exception. Josh wheezes. Tyler flicks the blade open and presses the steel to the nape of his neck._

_'What's gonna happen,' Tyler gulps, 'is that you're gonna stay still while I do this or the knife might slip, and I don't want to kill you.' He sighs, 'I love you, Joshua William Dun.' He waits for some sort of code for understanding. Then, he pulls the cotton blend of Josh's thin shirt away from his back. The t-shirt is easy to slice through but the shorts are thicker. He straddles Josh, facing his ass. The singer saws upward, gliding the knife in a satisfying motion similar to the elation inspired by the smooth cut of scissors on Christmas wrapping paper. The boxers shape his dense cheeks to the point of being irresistible and Tyler can't help but offer each side a hard smack. He closes the blade momentarily and, with pressure, rests the warm handle over Josh's eager hole._

They're both men, testosterone runs freely through their bodies and gives them that primal urge to fight, fuck, and contribute to a chaotic world that goes against the very faith they were brought up with. This means that they've gotten into situations that were less than ideal when these hormones weren't kept in check, when they weren't so convinced that the night wouldn't end in violent blows to one another, verbal or otherwise, because of a simple confrontation or conflict. He never thought that it would resort to this, that he'd be biting down on Tyler's arm so viciously that it even scares himself, that taste of blood pooling on the edges of his perfect rows of white porcelain, staining them red with animosity. Josh has always been an emotional person, he cried all the time when he was picked on and bullied throughout school, he remembers being shoved down on the playground when he was nine and he didn't do a single thing other than ball his fists tightly at his sides and wish that he'd done something. That's what makes this so difficult; this is his best friend and he's going to hurt him, and to what extent Josh isn't certain or able to catch any hints as to the overall goal that Tyler has in mind, but he knows that he has to get help. Things are clearly going wrong between them, and he needs to find a solution, and that solution might be escaping, contacting the police, and finding out what prompted this outburst. He knows that he wouldn't dream of pressing charges, even if Tyler meant to kill him.

The dialogue that fills the silence, Tyler's response, stings, but he can't let his mind wander to the content of his cutting words.

A hand easily slips underneath his strong jaw with a precision and confidence that Josh can't even begin to emulate, fingers coming together against his throat firmly to close off his oxygen and bring him closer to a swirling abyss where his thoughts can be clipped like the wings of a forsaken phoenix. He tries desperately to hold on, stubborn to show his captor that he isn't going to be an easy target, that he'll fight back with every breath he has rattling inside of his lungs, but he knows that he will not win this battle. Josh has no choice but to release Tyler from his bite. Blood mixed with saliva runs down the slope of his jagged molars and he swallows roughly around his friend's grip, his red-outlined eyes staring into him like he's the only thing he can hold onto, the only thing that's real in all of this. It's impossible for him to not imagine that death is waiting for him on the other side of his face, far enough away that none of the humans placed on the earth can see it until they're heading for it, the shaking of hands with your maker while your wrongs and rights are written down and weighed. Tears lightly run down the side of his face and get caught in the length of his eyelashes when he attempts to blink them away, trying to keep his head clear and focus on dishing out as much pain as he can before nothingness takes over and he doesn't have the chance. His breathing is irregular, only able to slip past any faltering in Tyler's grip when he has to adjust himself to hold down his throat firmly enough to prevent it,typically when Josh moves around too much and he has to prove his determination to suffocate him. 

Two hands now, wrapped around him with an unyielding amount of dedication, making sure that the task is accomplished. He feels his lungs quake, gently at first, but evolving into something painful and desperate, trying to breathe in when it's impossible. His arms are still bound tightly in front of him yet they still try to fight off the weight that's settled on him, it's not logical and if he were in any state of mind to not act like some caged animal, he would know that this will result only in his exhaustion. Still, he isn't able to stop how he moves underneath Tyler, his hips pushing upwards to try and displace him, anything to get him any space; "Tyler." he rasps, his bound hands clasp around the wrists that are strangling him, "Don't." is that last thing that he can voice with the air he has left. The glint of his blood-coated teeth are exposed when he gasps and eventually loses his ability to stay conscious, his eyes fluttering closed gradually as he resists the sleep that might never end. Josh loses all strength and lets go, and the image that's painted in the static of his retinas reminds him of constellations, going silver and gold nondiscriminatory. This might be the last time that he ever sees him, and his mind wanders away from any of what's happening, incapable of recalling that Tyler had done all of this to him, that he's laying in a hotel room on top of cheap comforters, and that he might be dying. 

The worst part is that there aren't any deep memories that he has of an innocent time in his life that involve Tyler, most people would imagine that they'd met during childhood with how close they ended up being, but it had been after they were both adults. All of the temptations of sin and the stresses of figuring out your life were already weighing heavily on them, and with their mutual lack of sleep and love for creation, they found time to make a connection. He can't conjure a time when anxiety wasn't a factor alongside Tyler's own demons, it's been a struggle since they've met. This doesn't mean that he doesn't find nice things to fall back on for comfort; the scent of artificial sandalwood and leather where he'd woken up with his face buried in the short length of hair, his gradual groggy recollection of Tyler's proposed sleepover that had inevitably ended up with him being way too nice to kick him off of the bed and onto the floor, their stomachs pressed together with his best friend's arm thrown casually over his waist as if to pull him in closer -- this is hell. Even though the sun had been stinging at his eyes and he knew that this level of intimacy was something reserved for Tyler to share with what he imagined his parents would want to be a good christian woman, he made himself a statue and kept his eyes forward because of the fear of waking him up. Not because he was worried that he'd freak out and try to 'no homo' this whole experience out of existence, but because it would mean that it would be over. 

Josh feels his throat tense when he holds his breath, any motion of his body might cause those eyes to open and find that he's nestled in the crook of his neck. These are things that he cannot have, but will always want. His lungs burn, and eventually he can't keep himself composed, he draws in a breath with as much composure as he can but it still startles Tyler. A hand goes over his shirtless torso casually when he pulls away, and when they're face to face he's shocked to see that Tyler doesn't have a hint of disgust written across his expression, just the remaining fog of sleep and a soft grin. Josh almost flinches away because of how he's been raised, to be fearful of loving another man, to think of how Tyler's family would stop inviting him over for casual dinners and holidays, how they would gossip over meatloaf about how he'd tried to coax their son into a gay experience when he was asleep, how that phone call would be made to his parents to rat him out. He struggles with the decision of whether or not to kiss him, it had been the only thing he could think about a majority of the nights that he spent with him, and instead he's paralyzed with his own internal monologue. Dark eyes go wide and he lays his head on the pillow, knowing that his hair has been reduced to a mess of strands that go every direction by him tossing and turning, a nervous chuckle is all that he can think to offer. He could have sworn that the words "I love you" followed, for the first time he has hope.

His body doesn't think that it will get to breathe again, and the noise that comes from him taking a deep gulp of air out of desperation falls on deafened ears, his own senses not starting up as quickly as they should. Bitter metallic of Tyler's blood coats his tongue and it's matched by the sharp bite of a blade pressed suggestively into the back of his neck to make him aware of a threat that's being conveyed, that he needs to remain still and not make things difficult for him or he'll be injured. Josh lays there and turns his head to the side so he can barely see the outline of his friend while he works, using the knife that he doesn't see to tear and cut at the fabrics that are hiding his form, his lip trembling to the point that he bites down on it to prevent showing any weakness. 'I love you, Joshua William Dun.' he hears from a man that he can only feel on top of him, and see the occasional movement of his arm or the edge of his clothing, and he can't force himself to return it even though he knows that Tyler knows. "I don't understand what's happening." he admits against the material of the bedding, and he's going to follow it with more questioning and a round of pleading to at least get them on the same playing field, but two rough slaps to his ass break his concentration to the point that he's speechless. Josh feels himself tense up at Tyler's hands coming down on him, and neither of them can deny that it's overtly sexual and not some catholic confessional method of making him confess to his perversions, and he muffles his own groan into the nearest pillow. 

"I need.. God, you can't --" he knows that it's impossible to expect himself to be held-together and calm under these conditions, "You can't do this. You're married." he desperately wants to beg for his best friend to fuck him, especially when a blunt object is positioned precisely at his entrance, seemingly to drive him up the wall. There is the knowledge that petitioning to Tyler's moral compass might save his life in this situation, or at least throw him off long enough to make him reconsider his decision. "You're married and this is wrong." he reiterates, but he's insatiable and he can't get himself under control, he can't stop how he doesn't move away from the pressure that's against his ass, or how he doesn't ultimately struggle away from the threat that he'll be penetrated. It makes him an awful person, but for once he doesn't care about the fact that his body's being selfish by craving his attention. Josh sighs softly into the covers again when Tyler presses the handle against him more suggestively, his bound hands clenching at the sheets as his hips softly rock down into the mattress. 

_He's acting the same way he has since I've known him, Tyler muses. Josh is the quintessential bystander, the type to allow things to happen. He may have put on a show: crippling his skin with punctures. However, he keeps his friend in check with a single action. Josh isn't the leader that Tyler ascribes to be but he doesn't strike him as a follower either. Instead, he sits between the two, serving as a beacon to consume the dullest glimmer of doubt rather that deflect and strengthen the other with his own light. This unnatural ability is dangerous and if Tyler isn't careful, his own autonomy will be the next casualty. It is evident that everything he has tried up until this point has had very little effect. Depriving him of oxygen was meant to bring him closer to God and he's missed that. Josh's body heaves to drive the knife handle closer through the web of material. It is blatant and slutty. While Tyler fleetingly considers lubing the ridged, bumpy nylon with spit before jamming it inside him, logic tells him that the boxy shape won't slide in easily. This means lacerations, potentially emergency medical care. If this is some perversion of his original plan so that Josh can escape, he isn't falling for it._

_Tyler withdraws and returns the handle to his victim's ass with light taps, relishing the subsequent grunts from his best friend. The mention of his marriage irks him; to the untrained, the reference is trivial. Here he is: trying to support Josh, redeem his soul in the name of the Lord, help him for crying out loud, and yet he still attempts to deter him from his objectives. It's better to exorcise his demons than to allow them to coexist. Tyler flicks open the knife and artfully cleaves a slit into the back of his boxers. The muscled figure shudders as he rubs a forefinger along the space between his cheeks. He hears nothing that would indicate he should discontinue._

_'Josh, I know that it's hard for you to trust me right now but I wouldn't be doing this to you if I didn't think it would save you,' the lead singer trails off. Everything in his tone embodies the doubtful optimism of an owner reunited with their vicious pet following rehabilitation. Slow words, no sudden movements, no cause for alarm. He oils his fingers generously with saliva and begins massaging Josh's hole before easing his index finger inside him. He feels Josh immediately clench. Shushing him comfortingly, he inserts a second digit. There is no noncooperation when Tyler gives Josh everything that he's been wanting. He probes further, stretching his hole wider and fucking him with his fingers. Surprisingly, he is again met with little resistance. Embarrassment washes over Tyler as he realizes that the posture he has adopted, ready to pin flailing limbs down so they won't interfere with his treatment, is wholly unnecessary. His lower back ripples. Tyler observes how the form steadily rises to meet his fingers before grinding back into the mattress. Josh wants this. With a sense of corrupted intent, Tyler realizes that he wants this too._

He isn't in control of so many aspects of his physical self, his throat is so dry that it feels as if it sticks to itself when he swallows; his sounds are detached from himself because they're so organic, they have to be vocalized even when he wants to snuff them out. None of it feels right, his skin flashes between feverish and cold to the touch, and it causes this awful tension within himself where he can't expect anything, he can't find anything that's consistent. Josh presses his face down into the pillow more roughly because he can hear his breathing getting more heavy, more filled with passion and excitement from what Tyler's doing to him, and it terrifies him. Puppet strings are attached to his fingertips and along his spine, none of the actions that are taken by him are on his own accord, it feels like he's been robbed of his own autonomy. His modesty is stripped away with the weapon, running down the curve of his ass and slicing through the material that's been keeping him from being completely naked, and he flinches subtly at the sound of the knife catching on the fabric. He can't believe that he's reacting this way, that he's capable of screaming and calling out for help, and somebody would come and put an end to this, but he doesn't and there is no logical reason why. That very same metal comes to almost playfully hit against his entrance a few times, like they're playing some game with one another and Tyler enjoys keeping him on his toes, is proving a point with how his body is so disturbingly needy. 

All arguments that can be made as to why his best friend shouldn't be abusing him are placed on hold, it's almost a willful suspension of disbelief in his own desires, it's surreal and he's drowning in the endorphins that wreak havoc over his actions. It's not usual for his typically argumentative nature to be stifled so easily, a flame has been put out in his soul, and in its place is a torch that's burning at a rate that can't be maintained. He knows that when he was a teenager that his sex drive had exploded into existence like most guys, but it wasn't anything that his hands couldn't fix in the privacy of his own room, and it had always been under enough control that his parents hadn't found out and dragged him to extra church sermons. This is a new record for him, between the stimulation and fear he's not even certain if he's managed to lessen the aching between his legs from all of the blood rushing into his cock, but the knotting in his stomach hints that he's been hard since Tyler had began touching him. Maybe something's switched off in his brain that regulates his ability to stomp down those primal urges to lay in bed and have sex all day, or perhaps its the area that should be screaming at him for moaning and writhing underneath his best friend while he prepares to penetrate him. Surely that's his intention, Josh can only assume, by the way his index finger runs over the cleft of his ass and against the underlying soft flesh that craves his touch. 

"We should stop this." he sounds so weak to his own ears, defeated even, when he gives that little suggestion that will go ignored, that much can be counted on with the momentum and how far they've already gone without Tyler seemingly blinking at the sexuality of the situation. He sharply inhales and bites down on the pillow at the pressure that's applied to his hole, it's not unpleasant and it doesn't hurt, but it's so humiliating to be splayed out in this position underneath somebody that's been so impossible close to him for so many years. It's too good, the feeling of being stretched open by wandering hands, of being filled for the first time since he's last experimented with his own body, and his lower back arches so that his hips can angle backwards and give an approving motion towards Tyler's hand. The friction from the duct tape adhesive is beginning to irritate his skin, both on his ankles and wrists, and it's only exacerbated by his inability to sit still. It's an amateur move to tense up, he's aware of this and it's basically the first rule of having anything inside of you, he also knows this from personal experience, but that doesn't mean that he can stop. With all that's going on around him combined with his often overwhelming anxiety, he's surprised that he isn't reduced to an incoherent, trembling mess by now. 

"Fuck." he groans when a second finger is forced inside of him with little more than a childishly comforting noise from Tyler's position behind him, his mind trying to communicate with his body and convince it to let go of all control of the situation. He cannot change any of this, this event was premeditated and carried out with a personalized plot that was created by none other than the lead of their band, and he's merely reacting. This is how he makes it an easier pill to swallow, refusing to admit that he has any part in this, or that he isn't guilty for moaning and practically begging for all of this after he's even tried to convince Tyler that it's immoral. A hand is clamped down over the back of his neck to presumably hold him in place, and he wishes only that he could twist himself around so that he could see all of the emotions that are crossing his face, or to even get anything across to him when he speaks. Dark eyes search over the prickled texture of the ceiling, landing on the outlined halo of distorted features that he can make out -- the general shape of Tyler's hair, the soft discoloration on his cheeks and jaw that show that he's gone a couple of days without shaving, his shoulders still dressed in one of their performance outfits. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips and he intentionally regulates his breathing to not sound like some animal in heat when he speaks, "I need more." he can't believe that he's admitted it, and it shows by the redness that he feels flash over his neck at how embarrassing that it, his voice all meek and broken with each word. There he is, rocking his hips between Tyler's fingers and the firmness of the mattress beneath his pelvis, trying to find some sort of relief to the feverish desire that plagues him, "Please give me more." he whimpers, defeated by his own lust. 

_With the urgent pleas, excitement rises in Tyler's chest and makes his breathing ragged. His eyes light like the rapid strike of a match over Josh's wriggling ass, as if seeing it for the first time. Sure, he had caught sight of him naked more times than he could count on two hands, but desire leapt exponentially as Tyler reflects that for the first time, he had uncovered those parts himself, massaged inside the ass he knew was begging for it, and now had his palm wound around the cock he knew had been regularly serviced by the bound hands. With Josh's manic desperation to be sodomized, a lesser believer might have sliced into the throat before even getting as far as we are now and allowed the unholy urges of the demons inside to be exorcised through death. But not only is Tyler a special breed, so are the estimations he possesses towards his best friend. 'I can only assume that you're trying to convince me that I'm sinning and losing my way; what you fail to realize is that God understands why I have to do this. And Josh', his eyes briefly flutter closed as though he knows the next words he'll say are nothing but lies meant to protect his own soul, 'God knows that I don't want to do this.' He releases his squeeze on Josh's cock and his fingers from his ass. While keeping a generous ratio of his weight on the body underneath, he leans to the side of the bed to grab something hidden on the inner side of one of the frame's support beams. Attached to a length of duct tape now swaying from its moorings is a pink, fleshy dildo. Tyler rips it free and rights his balance._

_'Moving hastily means less time for thought', Tyler whispers to himself. He globs spit in what he hopes could be considered contempt (if the higher power was observing this) and lubes up the sex toy. His fingers travel along Josh's ass like a familiar territory, pausing at his entrance to spread it wide with his thumb and index finger. Applying even pressure, he slides the saliva-soaked silicone partially into his ass. He waits for an impassioned outcry on why he should stop but doesn't audibly pick up any dissenting whimper. He fucks Josh with the tip, biting his lower lip as he anchors the toy deeper and then tugs it back out. With each thrust, Josh's hole accommodates more until Tyler has shoved most of the dildo inside of him. As long as he isn't penetrating him with his own flesh, Tyler reasons, this technically doesn't violate any of his teachings._

_Gathering momentum, Tyler loses himself in the sensations. There have been many occasions where Josh's body grazed his, his hand had been in his own, but nothing compares to the velvety smoothness he feels in his friend now. Soft as a baby - there is a strange irony in affixing such an innocent expression to the devilish skin heaving beneath him. At the same time, Tyler is becoming less well-intentioned and more complicit in his obvious enjoyment of the act. He loves opening Josh up, seeing how much he can take before pushing him to take double. The thought flashes through his mind that maybe bringing along one sex toy was inadequate. On his initial excursion to the adult store, he hadn't even made eye contact with any of the employees. He threw the door open in what had been a rather grand gesture for someone afraid to be recognized ('Take Me To Church!', pleads sex-fiend Tyler Joseph may as well have been splashed in black and white font all over every city) and then darted quickly to the first aisle that didn't shelf porn or lingerie. He hadn't properly evaluated the stock, just seized the most realistic and quickly shuffled to the register, lowering his beanie as he checked out with cash. While he still doesn't have a wide expanse of knowledge in these stores, they must house more resources and objects to try if his current plan fails._

_He fucks Josh roughly, eliciting the kinds of noises that would spur anyone to the point of never stopping. Like an intoxicating chemical, he feels overcome by the smell of sweat and drunk from the power to choose the doses that he delivers of pain and pleasure. He can't say for sure that he'd be able to go back now. Josh is probably thinking how I've taken so much from him, but there's still so much more I know he can give me. Summoning all the gusto of an army drill Sargent, Tyler interrogates, 'Have you had enough?' and repeats rhythmically as he drives the dildo in its final thrusts._

Possibly the biggest fear that resonates in his mind is not having his best friend around, this is why he can tell himself that the shock hasn't subsided into terror at what they're doing, that closeness is what somehow convinces him that it will be okay as long as Tyler's there. It might be true what he's being told as fingers violate him, that he's going to be saved by having all of the lusting and impulses extracted through catharsis -- it'll show him that he doesn't really want this, it's all in his head. Surely none of those around him would scold him for his sexuality, but their scrutinizing stares and inability to see him as they had before would be a silent, yet blatant, truth. Unruly strands of hair cling to his forehead with nervous sweat, partially obstructing his helpless view of retribution under the messenger's cautious movements. Where there had been fear and the dull, rusted pain of his stomach responding to adrenaline, is now a warm, welcoming and equally nauseating hunger. Josh couldn't begin to describe it, but it feels like he needs something to keep him weighted down, like he's getting high off of this energy and that he needs more. All that he's capable of doing is turning off his ability to think like a human being, reverting back to childhood when he was too anxious from thunderstorms and horror stories, going to the instinctual praying that he does among his own thoughts on a regular basis. It feels incredible, his body's rutting like a beast in heat against the tightness being stretched, the firmness of the bedding, any leverage he can get to set off those endorphins.

Tyler backs off and Josh blinks his eyes open even though he can only see the swirl of off-white patterning underneath him, an awful minimum thread-count pillowcase rubbing against his cheek, and the roughness of the ceiling that hosts them. They're best friends, but there's no way that he'd be able to truly read his emotions during this time, Tyler's adapted to his environment for far too long to let any of his true feeling slip through the surface when he doesn't want them to. A small curse goes under his breath where it belongs, where it isn't able to add to the anger that's spawned this whole situation, he can nearly feel the fork in his wicked tongue as each syllable rolls off of it in little strings of profanity. Black fluid mixes with his own blood and runs down the crease of his arm, to the tips of his fingers where it seems to draw his nails to fine points that resemble claws, it happens where he can't see it, but he can sense it in a way that he can't describe -- maybe it's all in his head, his own guilt. What he doesn't realize is that this is him in his purest form, that the illusion that he's been trained to keep has fallen, he's showing Tyler who he really is. The thrusting doesn't stop, it's rough and without feeling, the type of fucking that one-night stands are fueled by, the type that's to be expected of sex addicts that don't care about relationships, they just want to get off. Josh can feel his cock tensing up, twitching in a gut-wrenching way that lets him know he'll shame himself by cumming again even if it's borderline painful to let himself spill over once more. 

"More. Tyler, don't stop." he begs, but his voice is in layers, like there are five voices trying to battle for Tyler's attention as he abuses his body, and not all of them sound familiar. Some sound demonic, some angelic, like curled smoke that's scented like lavender and honey, while another cuts through like the husky tone of a house fire. As those motions continue, Josh's lungs fill and empty way too quickly as he's almost on the edge of sobbing into the pillow, his hips managing to stand still as he holds himself up to keep getting this treatment, this punishment, this lesson, his stomach muscles tense and shoulders on edge. Cum dribbles pathetically out of him with his cock being exhausted from all of the overstimulation, falling onto unknown piles of fabric that he can only imagine at a mixture of the hotel's property and his own destroyed clothing, but it's the least of his worries. Sharp teeth dig into whatever he can find underneath him to stop the whining and whimpering, the way that he's letting out even more nonsensical begging to prolong his orgasm, and his cheeks are a bright, heated red from the way that he grunts out "God, I fucking love you" and it just sort of happens before his brain can catch up with all of his shuddering. Tyler seems to be in a trance, his eyes glazed over with distance as he snaps his hips in uneven strokes against Josh's round ass, driving his cock deeply into him in unrestrained and lewd motions that are meant to rub against his prostate, the wet sound of them fucking loud enough that Josh knows he'll never forget it. Red and black eyes look up from their shrouded view, transformed into something that's only half human, and they can barely catch enough detail to know that something isn't right.

It's a huge surprise when the final couple of strokes of Tyler's hips drive his cock in especially sloppy, and there's a warm wetness inside of him that he can only suspect is cum being shot inside of him. Josh keeps his weight up on his lower half to make sure that Tyler's able to get what he needs out of this, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he writhes subtly with pleasure, incapable of speaking up or daring to suggest that they stop. Something above him changes, he can sense it, and those motions slow almost immediately, and he can smell the regret start to resonate within Tyler, but there's something else.. Confusion. Fear. Worry. 

_Tyler leans forward, pushing and holding the back of Josh’s neck to force his forehead against the mattress. He withdraws his cock quickly as though he were a holy crusader pulling out his sword. Things between them are now irrevocably changed. The air is heavy with the coppery scent of sweat; Tyler wipes his face with his forearm, hoping to mitigate the visuals of how passionate he had been moments before with his best friend. Sitting up on his knees, he spreads his fingers wider over Josh’s skull, halfheartedly commanding, ‘I cast you out, Demon’. Saying the words out loud sounds silly, unnecessary and he almost expects Josh to shrug his hand off, turn to him good-naturedly, as though he had spoken the trite chant as a joke. As his mind plays the scene, he couldn’t help imagining Josh slugging his arm and collapsing contentedly in his lap. He shakes his head to contest the migraine that is beginning to intermix with his conflicted thoughts. At all costs, he can’t forget that he is here on a mission. He can’t save Josh if he, too, becomes part of the flock lost from the shepherd._

_‘God, I fucking love you’, Josh’s utterance had completely caught him off-guard. Since when was love connected to sin? Love was a sign that from the Lord that you were on the right path, but the act they had just committed was so wrong. Could it be possible that he had restored the world between them to its righteous state? He wants to flip Josh over and zealously press a kiss to his lips. He hesitates. It might be forgivable if he was on the receiving end of the afterglow but he can’t bring himself to break free of the biblical teachings and initiate._

_Still, it is difficult to dispel the uneasiness that he had witnessed something different take place in Josh. It had to be a delusion that he had seen red and black orbs when he had turned to make eye contact that became more infrequent with the force of his thrusts. The nails that shredded the sheets had seemed to drag through the material like a sharpened knife. Those pleas couldn’t have come from a singular voice. He was presented with overwhelming evidence in support that the figure crumpled in front of him held an inherent evil that had only recently manifested itself. However, Tyler finds his original judgement increasingly harder to believe. It is unquestionable that there is something devilish about his movements but the affection and desire that had radiated from Josh had been so heavenly. Maybe his endorphins were overpowering his loosening grip on self-restraint._

_He battles and argues with himself back and forth, not exactly getting anywhere. One thing is for certain - he can’t allow the pause to grow any greater between them. It feels like he is going crazy and he craves the sensory input of Josh to make him feel normal again. He roughly musses Josh’s damp hair, normally contained underneath a baseball cap. Without waiting for a reaction, he shifts his body to lay down next to him, laying a cautious arm over best friend’s torso._

Pressure mounts with the secure hand at the back of his neck, where it had once pushed him down into the fluff of pillows to keep him in place, it now expands with the spreading of Tyler's fingers, one experimental motion to reach for his soul. Josh doesn't know this is that he's doing, but some carnal instinct trapped inside of him is being taunted with Tyler being bait, wanting to corrupt and consume. On top of keeping tempo with all of his friend's iterated words, anxiously screamed out above a crowd and mixed with raw emotion, he's now left with a dead battery. When he hears the words "I cast you out, demon", it isn't just that, it's a droning frequency with a familiar tone that strikes his ears like a power drill. Visibly recoiling from the biblical statement, Josh doesn't feel much concern even with half of his body, mind and soul being reserved for hell, unaware of the predicament that they're both in. A rebellious streak had hit him at a young age, the teachings at church not able to contain what his parents had desperately fought to turn into half a sense of normalcy. He'd always thought the ringing in his ears to be a paranoid imagining of a tone from heaven when in front of an altar made of gold and off-white, but it's something only he wasn't let in on, apparently.

The spirit that resides in his body, passed down through seed and lust, is satiated for now, breathing a foggy sigh of relief as it allows his form to let go of tensed muscles. Josh keeps his eyes closed in some half-hearted attempt to at least keep his as a casual affair, knowing nothing good can come of this and that it won't be happening again, aware that Tyler's moving again on shaky legs that are just as nervous as he is. What the drummer doesn't sense is the absolute disaster that he's made out of the sheets, his fingernails lengthening to sharp points that had shredded it by his sides in a feeble attempt to hold onto anything. He does sense hesitation and almost deliberate motions from his best friend as he navigates the bed and takes in the damage, but the emptiness is what gets to him, the way Tyler withdraws and all he wants is that closeness again. These feelings of wanting, and needing, are not new to him, especially when it comes to their unshakeable bond. Surely, the vocalist would have noticed by now that their meetings had increased over time, that he'd make excuses to come over at two in the morning to play video games and eat pop-tarts until the voided space of Tyler's beautiful marriage was bridged again. When they'd first met, hours and days didn't feel like they existed, and they would spend entire weekends sleeping over. Now, that's all but gone due to a busy schedule and life's obligations.

Josh looks against his own better judgment, eyes opening with heaviness begging them to close once more. Small, white feathers litter his line of sight, ripped from their pillow casing, and all that he can do is think it must be some kind of weird dream. The smoke of influence has left him like a breaking fever, leaving behind a cold and clammy vessel that’s confused and trying to brave its new reality. Like none of it had happened at all, his hair gets put even further out of place by his best friend ruffling it before dropping onto the bed. As his arm is thrown over his side, Josh uses the rest of his energy to roll over so that he’s face to face with his only grip on what’s true and good, hiding by resting his lips against his collar. “Tyler, what the hell’s going on?” He asks it with a tone that makes it known that he isn’t sure where their relationship is heading, or even his life. This opens up so many possibilities, but complicated things immensely.

_Josh is visibly nonplussed. It is almost as if Tyler had said the most mundane thing possible in their situation with how little of a reaction he receives. Discouraged, he lets his thoughts consume his mind without bringing them to life in speech. He definitely had not been imagining the demonic signs present in his bandmate, but they weren’t so easily dismissed by incantation alone. Had the intent been lacking? It is true that while his religious beliefs are something he holds near and dear to his heart, he could never bring himself to do something that would destroy Josh. He isn’t about to lose him, and if God was as loving as he knew him to be, he would want him to find a way around any permanent damage to his human form._

_He knows this to be a trial. Josh being susceptible to possession from the rebellion that thrived in him from early adolescence; Tyler being the devout disciple on a mission from on high. He needs to find some way of securing and distracting Josh while he can do some research. For now, there is no option but to pretend that everything is okay. As long as he lies still and refrains from scrunching up the bed sheets, he can ignore the long streaks of ripped fabric. Maybe someday they can joke about the low thread count and the hotel fees._

_As he’s lost in thought going over the various ideas for excuses to run down to the hotel lobby (and subsequently the business center), Josh rolls over to bury his face into his neck. While the other boy avoids eye contact, he picks up on the serious question that is being muffled against his skin. Years of being best friends is almost akin to being a parent to a toddler in that he can always decipher the meaning in ways that would be incomprehensible to any outsider._

_‘Hey’, Tyler says soothingly, ‘Nothing’s going on. Everything is fine.’ He pulls his body closer and hugs him tighter, wanting to do everything in his power to make Josh feel better. He softly rocks him in their awkward horizontal position, assuring him that nothing is wrong and they are going to get through everything in life together like they always had done. He has again come to the crossroads of knowing he shouldn’t act on an emotion his body and mind violently disagree with his teachings on. His feelings are too powerful to be muted. Tyler tilts his chin upwards and kisses him passionately and slowly, making sure Josh understands just how much he means to him. He pulls away and smiles softly, ‘It’s going to be okay.’_


End file.
